A Sticky Situation
by Emrold
Summary: As the rest of the gang rests at an inn, Cid and Vincent are sent on a strange mission to collect data on new hybrid monsters breeding on a distant island. Little did they know that the situation would get a bit... sticky... CidxVincent ON HIATUS
1. Ya Geddit?

**A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x**

* * *

This story was centred around a very common question. 

"…What now?"

Accompanying this question was a very suspicious glutinous noise.

"…Damned if I know."

Now, to properly understand this sparse conversation, it is required for us to cast our eyes into the past… ten hours earlier, to be precise.

* * *

"Hell." Cid Highwind muttered irritably, thumping the engine of a vehicle he was currently labouring on. It sputtered a puff of near-poisonous black smoke before dying out, drawing a very long string of obscenities from the talented mechanic's lips. "Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuckin fucko fuck fuckety_…_" He knew he was making no sense, but enjoyed saying the expletive anyway. 

The huge metal door to the medium-sized workshop opened to reveal a man covered almost entirely in a red cape. Barrett tapped the metal walls of the spacious room to attract Cid's attention. The mechanic stared at the bulky man in amazement. "Don't ask."

"Huh. Marlene been watching Superman again?"

"I told you not to ask."

Cid shrugged, lighting himself a cigarette. "So… whatcha need me for?"

"Cloud's callin' for ya. Said somethin' 'bout a mission." Barrett wriggled, obviously uncomfortable in his tight blue suit. He unpinned the cape from his shirt and rolled it into a bundle in his arms. "Looked preddy pissed 'bout it, though. Ya bedder go see 'im quick."

Cid flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette and puffed a wisp of smoke. "Yeah?" He took a long drag and finally snuffed out the cigarette on the dead engine he was working on a few minutes ago. He took off his oil-stained gloves and slipped on his cleaner ones, flexing his fingers to make sure it granted free movement to them.

"Is he alright?"

"Hmm… no. Getting _slightly_ bedder, but not bedder enough to walk around on 'is own two legs."

The mechanic nodded at this. He checked his hair for his goggles. Yep, still there. "Well, he certainly fought too hard with that… thing."

"The Ruby Weapon, ya mean."

"What-fuckin'-ever." Cid grabbed his lance from a rack at the side of the room and stalked past Barrett to Cloud's room.

* * *

The slow mumbling ceased as the blond mechanic entered the luxurious room of their group leader. He looked around. Two excessively massive mahogany king-size beds. A lavish spread of shagpile carpet. A brilliant mini-chandelier. An extravagant bathrobe, hanging off of a very stylish coat stand. Thin Mako Transistor (TMT) screen with all-around speaker system. A wealth of flowing silk curtains, unfurling from a gold-plated curtain hanger. Luxurious, indeed. He absently compared it to his dingy room beside the shared toilet, where he couldn't even get a good hour of sleep yesterday because someone thought that flushing the toilet continuously all through the whole night was a form of bizarre entertainment. Well, he had heard that the owner of the inn they're currently lodging in liked to play favourites. 

In the middle of the room, Cloud sat in one of the two separate beds, his face pale and unhealthy-looking. Despite his condition, he looked mildly enraged. Tifa sat loyally beside him, adjusting the woollen blankets around the swordsman according to his ever-shifting body position. Red was curled up at the foot of the bed, one lazy eye watching Cid as he approached Cloud, his spear ready in hand. Vincent was leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the room, beside the window. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping.

"Captain. We've been waiting for you." Cloud said tightly, his voice hoarse. Tifa offered him a glass of water, but he denied it. "A request just came in from the mayor of this town. It seems there have been some concerns about wild hybrid monsters running around on a nearby island off the coast. I told him that our party is tired from our recent encounter with the Ruby Weapon, but… he insisted, saying that he only needed some form of verification of the existence of these monsters, not their actual elimination."

"He sounds like a bastard to me." Cid grumbled nonchalantly, fingering the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket. Cloud almost nodded in agreement, but stopped himself for decency's sake.

"Well, it pays well, if that's any consolation. The plus side to this is that only two people are going on this particular mission, so there is more money spread over both of you."

Tapping his lance on the carpet, Cid frowned. "Eh? Two? Why only two?"

Tife answered this one. "Well, as you can see, Cloud's still recovering so I'm talking care of him, Red's got a stiff splint supporting his broken hind leg so he couldn't walk properly, Cait Sith is deactivated, Yuffie's visiting her hometown, and Barrett… well, he's spending some time with Marlene."

Cid recalled Barrett's tight-fitting Superman costume. "He's spending a little bit _too_ much time with the little kid, I'd say." Cloud exploded into a coughing fit, sending Tifa into a panic.

"He might be devoted to his work, but he still feels the burden of his duty as a single parent. We should let him be with Marlene whenever he can." Red spoke up finally, not even bothering to open his eyes to look at his audience.

Silence.

Barrett barrelled past the door with Marlene on his shoulders. Both of them were flicking their lips with their forefinger, going, "Wibblewibblewibblewibblewibblewibble."

_Utter_ silence.

Finally Cid scoffed, twisting the tip of his lance into the plush carpet. He smirked as it pierced through the material and carved the wooden floorboards underneath. Vincent, who had cracked open an eye to glance at the Wibblers, now glared at the pilot, failing in trying to do so with an expressionless face. Clearly he disliked other people destroying public property. Red had limped off to who-knows-where, apparently the slightest bit flustered that his philosophical deduction of Barrett was a complete waste of time and therefore money (as time is effectively money, someone from another universe had said); his legs between his tail… or was it his tail between his legs? The world will never know.

Cloud drank a glass of water before speaking again. "I am sorry to burden you with such a…" He searched for the right word, "…_Bothersome_ task, but I can't very well refuse his plea, as this town is the only settlement with an inn within a twenty mile radius. We can't afford to let him throw us out. Red needs his rest."

"And you, too, Cloud. You have to take a break as well." Tifa spoke softly, placing a hand on the swordsman's shoulder. Cloud did not reply.

"Yeah, yeah." _Actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea to escape that little hellhole the jackass of an inn owner calls a room, but for Cloud and Red's sake…_ "Just tell me who I'm going with already." Cid grumbled.

"Vincent will be accompanying you."

At this, the gunman promptly became erect in his stance. Cid simply nodded his approval. An almost-mute was better than that living radio labelled as Yuffie, or the overly-fatherly Barrett.

"Valentine, you look like you've got a plank plastered on yer back." The pilot went around the bed to prod at Vincent's stiff body. "Loosen up, girlie. We got us some asses to boot, sky-high style." He turned to Cloud and gave the swordsman a wink. "We'll get your wipe-the-mayor's-ass-able information. Geddit? Reli-able? Wipe-the-mayor's-ass-able? Eh? Eh? Geddit? Ya geddit?"

Tifa threw the PHS at him and he exited with Vincent and an elegant ping-pong-ball-shaped lump on his forehead.

Cloud coughed.

* * *

It was noon. Noon means that the sun was a little bit on the scorching side. Noon means a few kids daring each other to sunbathe on the beach without a sun lotion. Noon means eating your ice-cream at a speed comparable to that of a chocobo on crack to prevent it melting in the cones. Obviously, in this little hamlet, noon means hot, hot, hot. 

Aboard the Highwind, Cid flicked a few buttons. His hands wandered all over the control board gently and slowly, as if he was caressing the body of a lover, his lover, his beloved Highwind…

It does sound incredibly sad to have a lover with the same name as you do.

Cid didn't mind though. Flying Highwind was like soaring in a permanent state of pre-orgasm.

Not that he would tell anyone that. Oh, no, no. You should just completely dismiss the idea that you had read the previous line and move on to the next, which is just down there, that sentence starting with the word 'Vincent'. Ya see it? Good! Very good.

Vincent stared at Cid as the blond worked on getting Highwind ready for take off. His unflinching gaze was that usual pierce of focused attention. Of course, this unnerved the blond, who could already imagine himself being stabbed to death by this invisible force, but he was slowly getting used to it. _The guy had lived in a coffin for some odd years. I mean, come on. Even I would go a bit wacky in the overhead compartment if I had to starve myself of oxygen all that while._

"So… uh… Vincent… uh… what do you for a living?"

Vincent ignored this rather pointless question and buried his mouth in the collars of his cloak. It was then that Cid decided to keep his conversation openers to himself, feeling a bit put down.

"Communications board… all clear. Flight 827 alias Highwind ready for take off from coordinates 265, -24. Average wind speed is 734 miles per hour and counting. Left and right wing blades functioning and ready for full throttle…" Cid mumbled to himself, slipping back into his routine checks before smoothly took Highwind into the air. From behind him, Vincent stood up and left for… somewhere.

Cid sighed. What had he done to deserve this silent treatment from the black-haired man? Had he annoyed him in any way? Stepped on his hair or something during their many nights spent camping outside? Used his gun to burn a hole in his cloak? (1) Accidentally spearing him in the gut in one of their more… interesting fights? Honestly, Cid didn't remember doing any of these things. _It's must be the guy's genes… being coffin-ridden like that must've muddled his temperament someway, somehow._

The journey to the island went on for longer than neither of them expected. 'Right off the coast' was not the correct definition for the position of the island they were currently looking for. In fact, it was quite far off. Cid thought so, anyway. He couldn't even detect it in his radar.

"Hey Valentine, pass me the fuckin' PHS, will ya?"

The gunman, who had returned from wherever it was that he went to, grimaced, but complied.

Cid stabbed his thumb into the button Tifa had set on speed-dial. There was the usual ringing tone, then silence. The pilot considered the possibility that maybe a monster had ravaged the town while the gang were lounging around and cast 'Silence' on every civilian. Stuck with the inability to chant, speak and communicate, Tifa spent the rest of her days babying Cloud like a mute—

/"Hewwo?"/

_Hynedammit_. (2)

"Uh, hey, kid. Mind if I speak to your… er… pops?"

/"I like pops."/

"Yeah, whatever, kid, now listen—"

/"I like strawberry pops."/

_Good **Hyne**._

"Great, now can I speak to your dad?"

/"Daddy's Superman. Whoooosh."/

Cid handed the PHS to Vincent, who looked at it as if it threatened to put him in a pink frilly dress and make him attend a transvestite's festival.

The pilot took it back. "Okay, listen you stupid little brat, put Barrett on the PHS now or I swear I'll make you kiss your fuckin' strawberry pops goodbye—"

/"No need to be vulgar, Captain."/

"Ah. Cloud. It's you."

/"You're right. It's me. What's your status?"/

"Bad, sir, bad. We're stuck in a blizzard and the temperature is minus ninety degrees and the wing blades are frozen and stuck and we're gonna plunge into that fuckin' ocean down below and WE'RE ALL GONNA FUCKIN' DIE. It might also benefit you to know that we haven't the faintest idea where this blasted island of yours is."

For the third time that day, there was silence.

/"Captain—"/

"_Yes_, kid, I was lyin' 'bout all that blizzard storm shit so fuckin' tell us where we are already."

/"A moment."/ There was a low buzzing sound, a crash, and a pained whimper before Cloud came back on. "You're almost there. I suggest steering Highwind in the north-west direction from now on. You should meet the island in an estimated time of twenty minutes."

The PHS went _click_.

Cid threw it over his shoulder and went back to work.

"Highwind."

The pilot jumped a foot in his seat.

"Who's there!"

"Vincent."

Cid relaxed. He turned around and was vaguely aware of his eyes widening.

"…Help."

"Oh… right."

He gruffly picked Vincent up from his position on the floor. Apparently the PHS had struck the gunman in the head and gave him a very brief concussion. And a bloody scalp.

"Erm. Sorry 'bout that."

Vincent said nothing and disappeared somewhere again.

This time, after setting the Highwind on auto-pilot, Cid followed him.

"Hey, Valentine, where ya goin'?"

Vincent stopped in his silent tracks. Unsurprisingly, he said nothing.

"Okay, so now that we've established that you're a frickin' pillar at times, may I know where you're cannoning off to? You're a bit too keen on avoiding me. It's like I'm a skunk that just ate a whole lot of beans, and you're trying to get away from me before I can perform a root-a-toot. What's up, girlie? Afraid of big bad Cid?"

"…Highwind, you use the stupidest metaphors I've ever heard in my whole condemned life."

"Oh, wow, I'm glad I get to be the first person who draws such an overwhelming amount of syllables out of you today. Seriously, Valentine, something's rammed up your butt and I need to know what it is before I explode with frustration."

Vincent went dry for a full two minutes before he said, with a slight blush that Cid unfailingly noticed, "…Don't call me Valentine."

Cid managed an annoyed "What the _fuck_…?" before implications set in.

"Oh. OH. Oooooooh." The pilot nodded understandably for once and scratched the back of his head. "I see. You thought I was… right. I get it now. Don't worry, Val- I mean, _Vincent_, I won't call you Valentine ever again. Oops, just did."

The gunman glared weakly at the pilot before resuming his little walk-a-thon. Cid kept up with his pace easily despite his age and his more apparent limitations in physical metabolism—oh, ditch the sweet talk, I was trying to say that his body's aged more than Vincent's, alright?

"You still haven't told me where you're going."

"The Medic Room, Highwind. If you'd remember, you carelessly threw a heavy PHS over your shoulder and it had incidentally collided with my head."

"Are you—"

"And before you ask, yes, I am in a _lot_ of pain at the moment."

Cid fell silent for a moment.

"Vincent…?"

"…"

"…Don't call me Highwind."

* * *

Cid watched as Vincent tried to aim a Cure spell at the back of his own head. As any rational person would know, this was an impossible thing to do, but Vincent had prided himself in not being an easy quitter. So there he was, trying to hold the mirror steady with his flesh hand, reflecting the back of his head while his metal arm held the Restore Materia. 

After the twenty-seventh Cure attempt, his MP bar was starting to run out. He looked at Cid briefly with what the pilot would like to think as pleading eyes, but the expression disappeared as soon as the gunman looked away. The blond sighed.

"You can ask me for a favour, you know."

Vincent made it as if he didn't hear anything.

"Well, whatever, girlie. I have to keep a lookout for that island; we might've passed over it for all I know." Cid pushed himself off of the white wall he had been leaning against before and tramped out of the room casually.

"Cid…" A moan stopped his legs from moving. He turned back around and saw Vincent sitting (sulkily) on one of the sterile white beds he had installed five months ago. The mirror and the Materia lay forgotten on the white bedside table sitting beside the bed.

Cid picked his way carefully towards the gunman. "Yeah?"

"…Help."

The blond smirked. He picked up the Restore Materia and cast the Cure spell easily on the gash on Vincent's head. The wound sealed up even though the throbbing pain still remained. The gunman calmed down a bit and rubbed the spot where the blood clotted in his hair. Sticky.

"You're welcome, girlie. Now I'm off. You take a good long rest and don't get up even if you hear me being attacked by a Behemoth, ya hear?"

Vincent opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Cid looked over him for a few seconds before leaving.

The gunman smiled at his back.

* * *

(1) Idea adapted from FF8 fics, where it is often said that Irvine had once used his gun to create many bullet holes in Zell's room. Obviously, this was in a Zell/Irvine fic. Duhr. This event is loosely connected to the events that Cid had imagined. _Loosely_. 

(2) I'm not sure whether Hyne is a god in FF7. He IS a god in FF8, though. So I'm adopting him into FF7, just because I like the name and it rawks. Ch'yeah. :3 But if you DO know the name of the god in FF7 (if there is one), tell me and I'll edit it.

Chapter 2 will be up when I finish Chapter 4... or something. Don't worry, I don't think I'll take that long... hmmm...


	2. Who's Einstein?

**A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x**

**----**

The ominous island lay eerily still amidst the battering force of the sea waves. Its terrain was perfectly flat except for a sudden incline in the centre of the huge expanse of land that gave way to mountain that looked very much like an irate volcano.

Upon seeing it, Cid muttered a few obligatory swearwords and prepared Highwind for landing, making sure that he set her down a considerable amount of distance away from the volcano. Even though he's going to be paid a lot for this mission, he didn't want to risk a trip back to Shera for new parts to replace molten ones.

With Highwind safely settled in the middle of the plains that bordered a dense forest, Cid got up from his seat to rouse Vincent in the Medic Room. He grabbed his lance and proceeded on his way, picking out a cigarette from his pack and lighting it with a Fire spell as he went.

When he arrived at the Medic Room, Vincent was already awake. Pained from the throbbing in his head and feeling almost comatose, the gunman didn't notice the pilot walking in.

Cid watched as Vincent rubbed his eyes and yawn. The blond never saw the ex-Turk do such humanly actions, so he stayed quiet and observed. He eyed the silky-looking raven-coloured hair that trailed gracefully along the gunman's naked back. He saw the thin arms stretch and flick some of the shorter hair clumps away from a pale, almost ethereal face. He froze as blood red eyes turned to stare at him, first in alarm, then sudden relief.

"Cid…"

The pilot felt his name echoing in his thoughts. In a shout; in a growl; in a resigned voice; in a breathy whisper; in a _moan_…

"Hyne, Cid, you're dribbling."

This snapped the pilot out of his reverie. He sucked back the stick of cigarette that almost slipped out of his mouth and coughed as the smoke choke him.

"Have we arrived yet?"

Cid nodded dumbly, staring as Vincent got out of the bed, facing away from him, and put his clothes back on.

"We should call Cloud and tell him we're here. Shall I do that, or will you?"

Cid nodded again, looking like a dumb donkey, but feeling like a virgin after a mind-blowing orgasm – empty, satisfied. _Hyne_, _he's **fine**._

"Cid, please. Stop staring."

_Oh, he's begging… begging for me… "Please, Cid…" Oh, Hyne, he's begging for me to—_

"**_Cid_**!" A gunshot was heard and a bullet whizzed past his ear to embed itself in the white wall behind him.

"**_FUCK_**!" The pilot jumped to the side and banged his head on a white wall, falling limp to the floor.

Vincent calmly trekked over to him and offered him a hand. The pilot took it without a fuss and he was helped to his feet.

"I'm sorry." The gunman said, but it was obvious that he didn't mean it.

Cid didn't say anything in reply. Gritting his teeth and almost crushing his cigarette in the process, he whipped out the PHS from his pocket and pressed the speed dial button. Vincent took his time re-loading his gun, intentionally allowing Cid a peek at his cartridge holder – a small, tidy box full of lethal bullets.

Cid hastily looked away and was grateful when the other receiver was picked up at the end of the PHS line.

"Cloud?"

/"Theez eez Tai Chung's Takeaway. Takeawayz for the faaaar away-est of peoples! What you want me to send you tudaaay?"/

"I want Cloud."

/"Oh yeeees, we have Tuna Cloud, Spicy Hot Cloud, White Cloud, White Cloud with side-serving of Blue Sky, Sweet and Sour Cloud wrapped in Rice and Seaweed, Grey Cloud, Black Cloud, Gloomy Cloud, Lost-all-my-memories Cloud—"/

"I just want _Cloud_, please."

/"Oh. Weittaminoot, yeh?"/ There was a brief clatter and a spurt of Wutainese chatter from the other receiver. Cid held on to his sanity for a little bit longer. Supposing this is the Radio's house? _Hyne, I'd be damned if Cloud left me behind with this sexy weirdo, _the pilot eyed Vincent up, _…for Yuffie Radio Dot FM in Wutai. I'd skewer him. Or maybe not, if I can get a chance in with Mr Brick Pillar here…_

/"…Oh, we have cloud! Yes, yes, very beautiful cloud right there—"/

_Ah, this sounds right_. "May I talk to him please?"

/"Oooh, that cannot be doing, sir!"/

It took Cid a minute to decipher this into 'it cannot be done'. His patience ran thin. "Why the fuck not?"

/"Fook? You know my semi-demi-quarter-stepbrother-in-law Fook? Oh, I be delaited! What he say? Did he say semi-demi-quarter-aunt-in-law give me money?"/

Once again, Cid threw the PHS at Vincent, who caught it this time and ended the call. Using his flesh arm, he dialled Cloud himself, using the _correct_ speed-dial button this time.

/"Hello!"/

"Tifa, we've arrived at th—"

/"Tifa here! This is the PHS of heroes! The Avalanche group is currently unavailable at the moment – we're probably sleeping; out eating; lying around bored; fighting our nuts out; or getting pummelled by a bid bad Bandersnatch. If you can kindly leave a message we'll get back to you as soon as we can run away from the wimpy monsters! Bye!"/ _BEEP_.

Not one to be easily humoured, Vincent simply stated that they've arrived at the island and ended the call.

"Damn, Vince, you're boring." Cid claimed, chewing on a new stick of cigarette. The gunman took the source of nicotine from out of the pilot's mouth and threw it away. The blond grumbled his protest.

"…Let's just go." Vincent muttered.

-----

"…Let's just go back." Cid complained grumpily, tugging his lance out of the corpse of a mauled Formula and frowning at the slimy trails of blood along the spearhead. Vincent re-loaded his gun and wiped the muzzle with a piece of cleaning cloth before walking further into the forest, ignoring his battle partner deliberately.

"…Vince, didja hear me? Let's. Go. Back. Obviously there aren't any more freaky bastards on this island than there are right now. Come on! The ship's not far away, and we-"

"Exactly. We haven't gone far enough yet. This island is supposed to be humongous. If the ship's still nearby then we have a lot more area to cover."

"Whoah. Big, long words from you, Vince." A glare from the gunman, "…But anyway, can't we use the ship and scout the whole damned place from the skies?"

Vincent was silent for a long while. But he had stopped in his tracks, allowing the pilot to catch up.

"…Damn, Vince, don't space out on me now!"

"I am _not _spacing out. I'm… thinking."

"Thinking 'bout what?" Cid raised an eyebrow when Vincent stared in his direction, almost through him. "Yes, Vince, I _did _remember to pull out all the electric plug from their sockets, I've checked the water taps, I've got the keys right here—fuck, where're me keys?"

"I have to agree, Hig—Cid, that what you suggested was a reliable idea, but if we _did_ find the monsters by flying over them we couldn't really land near them unless the monsters are in a flat open area."

Cid wasn't listening. He's still fumbling around for his keys.

"I knew I had them somewhere..." He started mimicking his last few actions before they left the airship. Vincent watched in mild amusement as Cid re-enacted the moment when he tripped on the last step of Highwind's ramp. He evaded a thrust made by Cid's lance as the pilot tried to imitate their battle with a Formula ten minutes earlier. When the blond got so particular he tried to mimic all the various hand gestures he used from the moment he got off Highwind – including the flip he gave a Bandit when it tried to steal his cigarettes – Vincent stopped him.

"Cid, try looking under your goggles."

The pilot gave the gunman an incredulous, 'what-the-hell-do-you-take-me-for' look before he put his hand up to lift his goggles.

The keys to Highwind slipped out and flopped onto the ground.

Silence.

Cid chuckled nervously. "Silly me. I'm such a battered old duck. Uh… so… lead the way, Einstein." He quickly picked up the silver keys and followed Vincent as the black-haired man slinked under the shadows of the trees.

After a minute or so, "Cid…"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Einstein?"

-----

I'm sorry this came so late. I was hooked on playing a virtual pet site and totally forgot to upload this. ;-; Sorry! Also, apologies to all the Chinese people who read Cid's conversation with Tai Chung. Don't take offence, please! I was trying to be funny by stereotyping. GAH!

Takeaway phone calls are so much fun to write, though. ;D


	3. Formulas Live In Bungalows

**A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x**

**----**

The pair trawled the quiet forest until their limbs ache and their weapons were tired and overused. Still they found nothing unusual living within the expanse of the landscape, although Vincent had commented that they had barely covered one sixth of a portion of the land. They had a lot more ground to cover before they could safely return to the village from which they had departed, with the knowledge that the rumours of hybrids were not true. The gunman wanted to be sure that the monsters really did not exist before he would allow Cid to even look back – longingly – at his beloved Highwind. The pilot had called him sadistic, but had willingly taken back his comment after Vincent innocently flashed him his pack of lethal gun ammo.

By the time they retired, the sun was setting, and most of the Formulas were asleep, snug in their comfortable lair/den/nest/igloo/five-floor bungalow (delete where applicable). I said _most_. Not _all._

Vincent was enjoying the torture session he was having with a couple of unfortunate Formulas who dared to make him their one last kill before they head back to their lair/den/nest/etc. etc. Cid bit his nails from afar with silent apprehension as he watched the actions of the homicidal (hey, what's new?) gunman.

The torture procedures are as follows. First, Vincent would give the Formula's wings a couple of shots to bring them down to the ground. Then he would step on the wounded limbs, and twist his foot around to squeeze the pained shrieks out of the little bastard. Then he would pick up a few pebbles, weigh them thoughtfully in his hand (still with his foot twisting on the wings) and pelt them at the beast's head until it dies the slow, painful death it deserves.

Cid turned away from the horror movie playing out in front of him and ventured deeper into the woods on his own. The snapping of the twigs under his feet reminded him of the days when he was in the army, when he trained and improved his skills of stealth and strength in forests similar to these, and the exhilaration, the adrenaline, the _rush_ that he felt when he was on the battlefield, running around No Man's Land with his sharpened bayonet…

But then he suddenly remembered that he had never been a soldier, nor had he fought in the army in his life.

He's just a boring old engineer.

Cid sighed. "Life _sucks_."

And when he thought it couldn't get any worse than _this_, a pebble decided that it'd be fun to trip him up and make him plunge head-first into a puddle of brown… _something_.

The pilot brought his head up and uncharacteristically whined like a pig. "Vinceeeeeent!" He cried, close to tears. "Help pull me out of this really shallow puddle from which I should have no problem pulling myself out of with my own strength."

The red-eyed gunman fired one last shot at a fleeing Formula and calmly stepped over to his companion. He grabbed Cid's tight blue shirt and hauled the blond out of the mud-like substance, much to his relief. "Thanks, pal. You're a gem." The pilot tugged himself out of Vincent's grip and stood on his own two feet, wiping away smears of the substance from his clothes. He sniffed at it.

"Sweet."

Vincent raised an eyebrow.

Cid imitated the gesture. "No, Einstein, really. Have a snort yerself." He pushed his palm into the other's face, and Vincent avoided it, going straight for the puddle itself. He lowered his nose as far as his sense of dignity would allow him, before pulling back.

"Hmm."

"Told ya, didn't I?" Cid stared at the substance on his hand for a minute of two before his tongue darted out to lick a little bit of it, somewhat warily. Vincent scrunched up his eyebrows at the act and walked away, heading into a clearing not too far off. In the middle of the space he constructed a fire with a materia he had brought along with him and a lot of twigs and dead leaves. After snapping a few branches off of the surrounding trees (to make sure that there was an opening in the canopy of leaves overhead that would allow the smoke from the fire to escape) and throwing those into the fire too, he returned to find that Cid had already taken off his gloves and was dipping his hands luxuriously in the strange, sweet-smelling puddle.

"Cid."

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

Cid grinned lop-sidedly, showing his teeth. "Enjoying my dinner."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…" Cid challenged.

"…" Vincent countered.

"…"

"…"

"…Alright, quit it. You're creeping me out." Cid withdrew his hands from the little pool and licked his fingers, which were smothered with the mysterious substance. "Try it out, Vince. You'll see what I mean."

Vincent had no interest in tasting mud whatsoever. "No."

"Oh, come on." Cid scooped a little bit of the liquid and brought it close to Vincent's lips. The black-haired man pursed his lips and turned away to leave for the clearing he had prepared for their night in the woods. Before he could take any more than three steps away, however, Cid grabbed his waist from behind with his free arm and pulled him back. The gunman, taken by surprise, fumbled quickly for his gun, but Cid managed to slap the substance onto his face before he could whip out the gun from its holster and pull the trigger.

The pilot smeared Vincent's mouth with the sweet liquid. The long-haired man, not wanting to breathe through his nose for fear of breathing in some of the liquid in the process, finally gave in and opened his mouth to inhale some air. Taking up the opportunity, Cid slipped in his fingers and Vincent sucked on them, his mind whirling at the sensation of tasting another person's skin in his mouth.

Cid flinched. Damn, why did the guy had to look so sexy while doing it? The pilot found his fingers involuntarily moving inside Vincent's warm mouth. He brushed the tips of his fingers along the other man's teeth, marvelling at their sharpness, before moving his fingers to lightly touch the gunman's soft tongue, which welcomed the contact with gentle swipes and licks. Cid suppressed a groan. How could a gesture so simple turn into something incredibly erotic? The pilot left his fingers under the caresses of Vincent's tongue before he dared to stretch them and touch the man's throat.

"Nnnh!" Vincent moaned, wanting to gag but couldn't with Cid's fingers in his mouth and his other arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen. If Cid thought that the face expression the man had when he sucked on his fingers were sexy, then this is verging on the edges of porno. The pilot pulled out his fingers to let Vincent breathe properly. The gunman coughed, involuntarily leaning backwards against the other man's chest as he regained the feeling of having his mouth devoid of any alien parts wriggling inside it.

"So…" Cid started, trying to keep his voice sounding as normal as it was before. Vincent, realizing quickly that he was wholly depending on the pilot to keep himself from falling to the ground, pulled away roughly from Cid's arm, previously wounded tightly around his small waist. The red-eyed man successfully hid away his blush by burying his face in his collar.

"So what?" He snapped gruffly, his tongue lingering on the places where Cid had touched him. Neither of them moved. Vincent had his back towards the pilot, and Cid was staring at the man's long, black hair.

"So…" He cleared his throat, scratching his head. " So, um… what do you think?"

Vincent pondered over this broad, ambiguous question. What did he think of what? Of them wandering around lost in an area they've never been in before? Of the Formulas? Of the substance he'd tasted? Or of Cid's arousing techniques with his fingers? Vincent blushed as he planned the answer to the very last possibility in his list.

"Of the substance, I mean." Cid supplied, as if he'd read the other's mind. Vincent sighed quietly with relief, before he recalled how he was so caught up in tasting Cid's fingers themselves rather than the actual substance that he hadn't the chance to carefully file away the flavour… if there was one.

"I don't know."

Cid walked ahead to stand in front of the gunman. "What? After all that sucking you still don't—ugh, never mind." The pilot ruffled his own hair in a frustrated manner and tugged a cigarette out of his pack. He turned on his heels to head for the little camp Vincent had prepared. His partner followed him with silent steps.

"Fine, I'll just tell you what it tasted like, Vince. Toffee. _Coffee-flavoured_ toffee."

----

"…Coffee-flavoured toffee?" Barret's disbelieving voice blared through the PHS. Vincent held the device away from his ear, his face contorting into a slight grimace as he heard Marlene shrieking "TOFFEE! TOFFEE! IWANTTOFFEE!" in the background.

"Yes. We haven't actually discovered how the substance ended up on this remote island."

Barret grunted from the other end of the line. "Hang on, here's Cloud. He just came out of the toilet."

"I thank you Barret, but you really didn't have to inform me of that particular detail." Vincent said quietly, waiting as Barret passed the PHS to Cloud, grunting again in the process.

The group leader quietly ordered Barret to take the hysterical Marlene to any local sweet shops still open and satisfy her needs before coming on to talk with Vincent. "What are the developments, Vincent? _Are_ there any developments at all?"

"Just a trivial one. Around 7 o'clock, we found a hollow in the ground in the middle of the woods on the island, holding a volume of coffee-flavoured toffee."

The silence from the other line was quite deafening.

"…Tell the Captain that the joke's _not_ funny."

At the moment, Cid was sitting on the ground and leaning against a fallen tree, cleaning his bloody lance with a cloth he always carried around in his pocket. Upon hearing Cloud's comment, he took offence. "Tell Spiky I'll twist his head off if he blames me for lame jokes like that again."

Vincent ignored the petty argument and continued with his report.

"So far we have encountered only Formulas within the vicinity of these forests. They are no different than the Formulas found on the main land, so I presume that they aren't the creatures we were looking for. Other life forms, should they exist, are unidentified as of yet. We will continue our search for the hybrids tomorrow."

"Good, Vincent. Please report back any further discoveries immediately. The mayor is quite restless."

"Understood." Vincent ended the call and slipped the PHS into his pocket. Cid was grumbling near the fire, something about not being able to 'say good night to Highwind' before she 'goes to sleep'.

"…What the hell are you stripping off for?" The pilot stopped in his rambling to stare in bewilderment at his companion as Vincent undid the catches that held his cape together. True, it was a pretty damn amazing sight to behold, but he could have appreciated a bit of warning first…

"I'm going to the river to wash myself."

"What river?"

Vincent pointed towards somewhere in the darkness. "That river."

"Where?"

"There." Vincent pointed again.

Cid looked in the direction in which Vincent indicated, but failed to see anything. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's getting pretty late, and maybe you're starting to see things…"

Vincent ignored the blond and left with an air of annoyance about his being. Cid shrugged.

The forest was very quiet. The only noises that could be heard were the occasional crackling from the fire as another twig burned to ashes. The pilot was unused to such a calm, tranquil environment – he had spent most of his days as an engineer, and so he could always hear the familiar noises of his machines at work, day and night. When he joined Cloud's group, nothing really changed. The noises were still there, but they were echoes from his memories, mixing with the cries of prowling monsters and the ringing of weapons cutting through air as whomever it was that kept watch dealt with the beasts. It was good to be in the middle of such lively environments; it kept his senses sharp and alert at all times.

But this… it was like being in a graveyard. And even so, a graveyard would have been a bit livelier than this. This place gave him the spooks, and his senses were too scared to react to any given stimuli – afraid that what the darkness yields would be too measly and bothersome to pique Cid's interests in adrenaline. He supposed that there were some people who liked such a place. Vincent, for example. Cid could readily imagine the gunman sitting in his place right now; his pose as rigid as it ever was and will be; his eyes focused on nothing in particular. In his minds he would re-live his past, the darkest horrors in his life, and although he would be occupied with these re-enactments he would never let his guard down – such was the expertise of an ex-Turk.

From this, Cid's thoughts spread over many other subjects. The one that always found its way back to his current frame of mind was that woman Vincent pines over. Lucrecia. What was so special about her? She had betrayed Vincent's love – she turned away his willingness to embrace her for a madman. The woman's a lunatic! Cid could not fathom Vincent's stubborn streak. When will he realize that Lucrecia is no more? When will he let go of his past? When will he be able to love again? With these questions running through his mind, Cid realized that he didn't know much about Vincent Valentine – he knew only of his name; of his skills with a gun; and of the fact that the gunman could be every bit as sexy as any voluptuous, seductive woman Cid had ever met during his lifetime. Sexier.

His thoughts were interrupted when Vincent re-entered the camp, his hair wet, strands of it glistening in the moonlight. It looked like he had washed away the old blood that clotted in his hair when the PHS hit itself against his scalp. He appeared refreshed, his eyes a brighter red than they were before, and his pale skin glowed ethereally after he had washed away the dirt it collected from trekking such a long way. Cid filed away the sight in his memories – this was Vincent at his most beautiful, and he wanted to make sure that he had something of a private memory of the gunman before they separate after this quest is over. Because it will be over soon, Cid surmised, and each member of the group had their own paths to follow. Cid was not sure where his path would lead him, or when it would end, but he hoped that he would live a longer life than most, and would get a shot at flying himself into outer space, just like he had always dreamed of.

"We should prepare ourselves to rest, Cid." Vincent said softly, his tone a little lighter than usual. Cid nodded slowly, caught up in his thoughts, before remembering that he had to empty his bladder before he could get a good night's sleep. He excused himself, retreating into the trees to relieve his urges, before returning to find that Vincent had spread his cape on the ground as a kind of protection against the dirt. Cid shrugged, and dropped back in his place against the log, making himself comfortable as he prepared for a rough night sleeping in the woods.

Vincent's voice stopped him. "Cid." The pilot cracked open an eyelid, watching as the gunman briskly patted the space next to him on the outspread cape, before flipping over to face the other side, presumably to hide away his embarrassment. It was understandable – Vincent always had a space all to himself on the numerous excursions their group went on, and he wasn't used to sharing, but since they had forgotten to bring a Tent or some individual sleeping bags with them, it was inevitable for them to share the same space to sleep.

"Nah, it's alright, I'm fine here." Cid tipped his head back and over the log, trying to will his mind to shut down and grant him sleep.

"Cid, there are many sharp stones in this area. You might not want to risk tearing your clothes."

"S'alright. I can deal with a few holes in my pants."

He could hear Vincent's exasperated sigh. "I want to share what little warmth we have. The fire will die out soon, and the night is set to be a cold one. I don't want you whining tomorrow if you can't get any sleep as a result of the cold night air."

Cid opened his eyes. That made perfect sense. "Alright, alright. I'll join you on your little picnic blanket."

A glare. "What? It certainly looks that way to me." Despite that, the pilot plopped down on the fabric and faced Vincent's back, snaking his arms around the other man's waist and dragging him as close to his chest as he could. The gunman protested a little, but realized that further resistance would appear childish, and stilled. "Don't hold me too close."

"Why not? You're the one who said that we need to share 'what little warmth we have'."

Vincent sighed again, succumbing to Cid's whims, and relaxed.

"…Attaboy."

Vincent fell asleep with the feeling of Cid's fingers running gently through his hair.

----

AWWW YES. FLUFF FOR THE MASSES. 8D Hope you liked that chapter. It's a special gift from me for not updating for such a long time. Heh. I had a perfectly acceptable reason: my laptop broke down and it brought all my files along with it. So yes, all the future chapters are deleted. :P Beh, I wanted to re-type them anyway, so it's really not so bad.

Oh, and by the way… I sometimes update my profile to give you an idea of how I'm getting on with my stories… so check back when you can. So you'll know that just because I haven't posted anything for a long time, doesn't actually mean that I'm dead. ;)

Until the next update!


	4. Cid has a bird!

**A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x**

---

"Vincent..."

That voice. Why has it come to disturb him again?

"Vincent..."

Go away... go away...

"Vincent..."

Lucrecia...

Vincent screamed as his left shoulder bore him great pain. He gripped it with his flesh hand, trying to calm the beast that raged for release, and opened his eyes with much effort. He found himself waking up in the middle of a field of flowers. The scenery reminded him of Aeris' garden in that ruined church in Midgar, but these flowers were... half-withered...

"Vincent..." Why? Why call his name? Vincent used his flesh arm to assist his limbs with the process of standing up, feeling his knees wobbling everytime he tried to take a step.

"Lucrecia..."

"...Vincent, you are weak." The voice vibrated warmly in his skull. It did not carry the sinister, maniacal undertone it usually did, and this puzzled the gunman.

"I feel like it." He answered, looking around the vast fields in the hopes of sighting of the woman he loved. There was nothing notable on the landscape other than the pitiful, wilting flowers.

"No, you are weak inside."

Vincent's breath caught. "That is... nonsense." He gritted his teeth at the faltering force in his words, knowing that what this.. spirit informed him of was painfully true. So that's what these flowers were... a symbol of his current state of mind.

"You have spent too much time thinking about me." Vincent could feel a cold, invisible hand cupped against his cheek. "I am your past, Vincent. The past is not something to be dwelled on for such a prolonged length of time."

Vincent brought his his flesh hand up to feel the hand pressed against his cheek, but amazingly he felt nothing. Lucrecia, or whoever it was, had moved away. "I alone will dictate what is my past and what is my present, and what will be my future. Only I can convince myself what is what, because it's my life, and I control it!"

"Vincent!" The sudden call silenced him, and he burned alone. "You cannot continue this lonely life you have built after our separation!"

"I can do whatever I choose!"

Then followed a silence so profound, Vincent almost envisioned that he had died.

"...No man is an island..."

---

Cid was awakened by the sudden jerk of his arm. Characteristically, he shouted a surprised expletive, snapping up into sitting position and looking around for his lance, just in case it was one of them damned Formulas trying to bite his ass again. After making sure that he had the weapon gripped tightly in his hand, he managed to work out that it was Vincent who had escaped from his tight embrace.

"Fucker... almost snapped my arm right off..." He tried to move his arm, just in case it really had snapped off. It hadn't. "Phew. I'd be fucked if I lose these babies. I mean, how am I going to smoke if I can't even hold up the cigarette?"

Shivering at the prospect, the pilot thought it best to start searching for his companion. Unusually, the gunman left easy-to-spot tracks leading from the camp into the woods. Cid followed it carefully, occasionally taking a bit of a diversion to whack down some Formula nests tucked into some tree branches and steal the eggs (for breakfast - I mean come on, you gotta think SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST here). The tracks eventually led him to a river and a haggard Vincent, sitting on the banks, panting.

"Hey, hey. Ya got a reason for almost yanking my arm clean off this early in the morning?"

Vincent kept quiet.

"Yo. Mr Brick Pillar." Cid hesitantly poked the gunman with the blunt end of his lance. "Wakie wakie, ya vertical stone column."

Vincent flinched as he was poked again and again, and at last he gave in and sighed. "I did not ask for you to follow me, Cid."

"It figured. I mean, you left them OBVIOUSLY, STUPENDOUSLY, BRIGHTLY visible tracks and all... of course you didn't even TRY to tempt me to follow you." Cid tried to make a vaguely innocent face. Vincent looked at him once and it was enough to cease further arguments.

"...Okay, so maybe we need to talk." Cid plopped down beside the gunman and swung his arm around the other's shoulders. "Spake, and be heard."

Vincent clung tightly to his compaign for silence. Cid caught the drift and shrugged. Unlike Vincent, he was an easy quitter. I mean, if something was too hard, why should he even bother trying again and again to understand it? It'd be a waste of his cigarette-smoking time. "Alright, alright. But I'll... uh..."

Vincent raised an eyebrow.

"I'll... uh..."

The expectant twinkle in Vincent's eye unnnerved Cid. "I'll... uh..."

"Well?"

"I'll be around when you need to talk. Uh. Okay?"

Vincent frowned slightly.

Cid spazzed.

"Fuck! You don't like that? Uh, then I'll... uh... I'llgothrowmyselfintoacageandlockitthenthrowthecageinahouseandlockthedoorandthenI'llaskaspaceshiptoshootmeintospacethenI'llaskaspacemonstertoeatmeupandyou'llneverseemeagain! Uh. Okay?"

Vincent smiled.

---

Vincent frowned.

Why the hell should he drag a 80-something-kg 40-something-year-old through a thick wood just because the geezer fainted when he smiled!

He's too old for this. Vincent thought of sending a letter to an authority called Square Enix and suing them for making him too old for his looks. And also for making him do this... menial work. Unfortunately, the gunman had a sneaky feeling that it wasn't Square Enix that planned this whole trip with Cid for him... maybe it was a fangirl.

Anyway.

Vincent hauled Cid's body up to the log and dumped it there, rescuing the Formula eggs from the pilot's pocket before they got squashed under the blond's sheer body mass. He set the twigs in the bonfire burning again, but covered the flames with stones this time, so that the fire would not spoil what he was going to prepare. Cutting off a large leaf from a tree, he broke the eggshells and let the contents pour on to the leaf. Making sure that the stones were properly heated up, the gunman gently placed the leaf on top of the little mound and left it to cook.

The delicious waft of the frying eggs attracted a (dare I say, brave) Formula, who hovered too closely to the eggs for Vincent's liking. Luckily, the gunman was not in his sadistic mood today, therefore the beast met a more fortunate, quick end by a speeding bullet.

Vincent sighed as he looked around the campsite for edible vegetables. How long are they going to be stuck on this island? Their provisions were little - Cid, being the old geezer that he is, forgot to buy enough food to feed both of them - and the surrounding terrains appeared a little bit too rough for human occupance. 'We would be fine here,' thought Vincent as he plucked a mugwort from the base of a tree. 'The stream nearby is clear and unpolluted, so we have our drinking water. The Formulas can provide us with fresh meat and their eggs are nutritious. These edible plants are abundant, perfect for daily consumption. But... beyond this point, we will face harder circumstances. It seems that the stream here leads to a loch which then opens up into the early borders of the ocean, and I don't think we'd have any business there, so following the stream would be a bad idea. Following that thought, we'd die without water, and that idiot left the water container I brought along for the mission in the airship.' Vincent glared hatefully at the 'idiot', who was still in a comatose state. 'Battered old duck.'

There was a rustle in the bushes behind the log against which Cid was resting. Vincent sprang up from his job of cutting up the mugwort with Cid's lance (washed and 100 percent Formula-blood-free, if that's what all you neat freaks want to know), but he could feel his knees faltering as he stood. Geez, egg, cook faster, dammit!

Hungry from lack of nourishment and tired after dragging a grown man through 1 kilometre of dense, thick woods, Vincent knew that his aim would not be as perfect as usual. But he drew his gun anyway with his right hand, while the left carried the lance as some kind of defence, and waited.

At first, it was the colour that surprised him. Such an unnaturally bright yellow, with tints of brown at the edges of the feathers to act as a contrast and soften what would otherwise have been a blinding sight. Then the slender, curvy neck, stretching out to peck curiously at the bits of mugwort stuck to the lance in his hand with a long hooked beak. Thin but sturdy legs supported the whole creature, the branches of its medium-sized, chicken-like feet ending with sharp talons that scratched absent-mindedly at the hardened soil beneath.

Large pink eyes stared hungrily at the pieces of cut-up mugwort left unattended beside the fire, and the creature took advantage of Vincent's brief trip to Lalaland to snap up and munch through the shreds of mugwort. When the beast has decimated the whole stash, it proceeded to peck hesitantly at Cid's goggles. When the pilot didn't react, the creature pecked him over and over again, and when even THAT didn't work, it used its beak to grasp the bridge of the Cid's goggles and pull it away from the messy blond hair.

You can guess what happens next.

Cid woke up in pain. The goggles had thudded against his skull with such a strong force that he had the usual brief bout of amnesia: where was he? Who is he? What is he? What is his purpose in this world? Why does he have five fingers? Why would he want to damage his lungs by smoking too much nicotine?

Why, indeed.

"What the FUCKIN' fuck are you fuckin' doing, you fuckin' son of a kinky bi--oh crap." Cid paused in his string of expletives to fully examine the situation.

There was a bird standing over him.

A bird with a huge beak.

A huge, SHARP beak.

With talons.

At the feet, I mean.

You can't have talons at the mouth, now, can you?

Cid turned extra-nice. "Why hello there, little birdie-bird. Would you like a little grassie-wassie for your belly-tummy?"

The beast innocently clawed the ground near to Cid's head with its talons.

"Oooookay then. Maybe not the little grassie-wassie." Cid looked around desperately, taking care not to make contact with the bringers of his torturous death. "Uh, would you like to eat this log instead? I mean, it's brand-new and all... it's the, uh, shit, man. I mean, bird. I mean, spring chicken--no! I mean, hen. Or, uh, chick. Yeah, let's go with that. Chick."

The 'chick' seemed pleased. It started to nuzzle Cid's neck affectionately, and if the pilot hadn't moved away just in time, he'd have been flattened under its weight as it came crashing down to snuggle up against him. Cid elbowed Vincent. "What is WRONG with that bird?"

The gunman shook himself out of his reverie. "I think it likes you."

"But it's a bird. I mean, I'd like a bird to like me, but not a real bird. As in, a 'bird' is the slang for a woman, but in this reference I'm actually talking about the actual biological species with distinctive characteristics that separate it from land animals, which is its ability to fly in the air for long periods at a time. But I am in no way referring to flying squirrels, as it is known that these mammals could glide - not fly - between trees like some kind of kamikaze parachute bomber, and are therefore not categorized as birds, though a few dumbasses think that they are."

Vincent blinked.

Cid blinked back.

"...Whoa." Said both simultaneously.

Vincent coughed. "Anyway, it seems that this is our hybrid monster. I have never seen a beast like it before."

"Call Spiky and see what he thinks."

Vincent withdrew the PHS from his pocket and pressed the speed-dial button. Cid went to try and keep the bird around at the campsite so that they could examine it. (this involves a lot of arm-flapping and mimicked squawking, all of which apparently worked to keep the bird interested)

"...Nya, lassie, this 'ere crown, it came frae ma mammy's saide of the family. Legund has it that ma granny banged up a pooch tae get i', she did. And I told ye aboot my tail, dinnae I? Aye, this tail, this tail--"

Vincent pressed a button that kicked the phone line to prioritizing his call over the preceeding one.

"...Cait Sith. May you please pass the PHS over to Cloud please?"

"Eh? Valentine?" For a few seconds, Cait Sith sounded lost. I mean, wouldn't YOU be if one second you're telling your whole family history to a girl, then suddenly this girl turned into a man, then you realized that you had told a MAN about how your first hickey was given to you by an alpaca? "How, what happuned?"

It took Vincent a split-second to discard the 'how' from the sentence and finally have it make sense. "We found the hybrid."

"Ah, right lad. I see." Lowly, Cait Sith whispered, "Jeezo, a man cannae get the chance to pull in t'gurls these days..."

Vincent wondered what species Cait Sith's 'girl' belonged to.

"Well, I'll give ye o'er tae Clood the nou. Ech, lass, get off'er yer boffin--"

"VINNIE!"

The gunman jumped. The exclamation seemed to be carried over loudly to the bird, as it flew into a panic and ran wildly around the campsite, knocking Cid all over the place like a little ball in a pinball table.

"Yuffie, calm down, you'll scare the hybrid away..."

"What! What hybrid! You better not be hiding something from me, Vinnie!"

"I am no--"

"Well, ANYWAY, guess what I got in the mail this morning in Wutai! Some mad fan of ours wrote a story with you and me in it, and it says we are married and my surname was Valentine and we had three kids and they all had your creepy-weepy red eyes and my beautiful hair and we lived in a big house with a thing called a 'garage' where we stash away our 'Merchandize-Bent car' (1) and we had a chicken coop with turkeys in and some stables where there were pretty little tiny animals called 'little ponies' who had weird names like Surfwhore, Tramp and Swan Soup (2) and we had lots and lots of fertile land and we grew grapes and oranges and money and apples and watermelon trees and--"

Cid snatched the PHS from Vincent's abused ear. "Shut UP, you fuckin' radio box! Just give us Cloud, already!"

"Oh, how do you want him, geezer? On a silver platter with apples stuffed in his mouth! Do you want him spit-roasted? Oven-baked? Wrapped in aluminium foil!"

"You...! You ninjapoop!"

"Yeah, way to go - I bet you flunked your English exams in school, sexist JERK!"

"I didn't!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Well, maybe I didn't, but I'm not going to tell a thief like YOU that! You might steal my certificate or something..." Cid sounded almost afraid, as if the incident had already happened once before.

As much as the author would like to continue this petty but highly amusing banter, Cloud is already fighting his way through her brain cells with his long-ass sword (don't be naughty, kids) to get onto the stage, so he has to be given his time.

"...That's enough. Yuffie, give me the PHS."

Cid breathed a deflated sigh at the spiky-haired adult's voice and handed the PHS back to Vincent, resuming his duty of befriending the hybrid.

"I assume that this is a status report, Vincent?" Cloud asked, his voice sounding much healthier than last time - though none the merrier. "Since the last update, the mayor has been putting everyone under house arrest under reasons so vague, they could be a result of his chronic paranoia. I hope you have some news that would halt this nonsense."

"Does that mean that you would not be able to assist us if there are any difficulties?" Vincent waved off Cid's cries of distress when the pilot found himself squished under the huge bird-hybrid again. "It has been eeriely peaceful recently, and I feel uneasy wading in this thick, anxious atmosphere. What's more..." The gunman took out his pack of gun ammo. "...I'm running out of bullets."

Cloud was silent for a minute. "...Cid has a lance that will surely last both of you, if he utilizes it properly."

"But still, it would be dangerous for one of us to go unarmed. For one, it makes hunting, scouting or nightly shifts of guarding the camp in turns almost impossible."

"I--"

"VINNIE, DARLING, YOU CAN ALWAYS USE A ROCK TO BASH THEM JACKASSES DOWN!"

Vincent deafened his ears to Yuffie's outburst. "I apologize, but I didn't quite catch you, Cloud."

Cloud cleared his throat. "I said, I cannot do anything about our current situation here. You will just have to find a way to go around the problem. Or you can try being economical with your leftover ammo. Now, about the hybrid...?"

Sighing, Vincent gave Cloud his report. He hated to have to depend on someone like Cid for protection, but it looked like he has no choice. "Very well. At around 10 o'clock this morning, a strange bird-like creature stumbled into our base camp whilst foraging for food. It has appearances similar to that of a chocobo's, but with a longer neck and more sturdy-looking legs, and a brown tint to the edges of each feather on its body. The eyes are pink, and the beak is a darker shade of brown. It does not appear that the creature could fly, but this theory has never been tested. I do not want to take the risk of taming the beast - its talons look particularly murderous."

"Do you think that the hybrid and the mysterious toffee are connected?"

"Highly unlikely, Cloud... from where would such a creature excrete the substance?"

...Yup, you guessed it - silence.

"On the other hand, answering that question would not be a good display of morals."

"Ahem. Agreed." Cloud said after a while, and his uneasiness radiated from the PHS like the stink from fresh dog excretions.

"I will try and find out more about the hybrid. I will call again soon."

"Alright. Be careful."

And the call ended. Vincent was just about to drop it into his pocket but something snatched it away from his hands.

"Vincent! Look out!" Cid threw himself against the gunman and forced him to the ground, as something glided swiftly above their heads, making a long, straight cut in the back of Cid's shirt with its claws. The monster resembled a large raven, but it had intricate silver markings on its body, making it luminous. The PHS was gripped tightly in its left feet. Before Cid could reach for his lance, the monster shrieked twice, then lunged for Cid's goggles and grabbed the keys to Highwind. It shrieked again, glancing down on the pilot and his companion with a look of arrogance, before making off with his loot in the general direction of the plains.

Cid got up and off of Vincent, tearing off his ruined shirt. "Fuckin' badass... this was my favourite shirt, godfuckin'dammit! Oh, and it took the keys to Highwind." Cid paused. Then: "FUCKER!"

Vincent, the ever the calm, composed one, brushed all the dirt from his hair and clothes before sitting up and turning, looking in the direction the creature dissapeared in. "What was that?"

Cid shrugged. "I don't know. What a little bastard, though." Agitated, the pilot drew a bent cigarette from his half-shattered goggles and lit it. "Dammit... now we can't get back on Highwind... I'd really like to give that miserable pansy bird a kick in the nuts--"

"I don't think that's anatomically possible."

Cid shrugged. "Yeah, well, you gotta make do with whatcha got."

"So..." Vincent dropped back down to lie on his back again. "Does this mean that we're marrooned?"

Cid took a long drag of his cigarette. "...Yeah. I guess so."

The hybrid bird hiccupped.

---

(1) Um. (cough)Mercedes-Benz(cough).

(2) My Little Pony, My Little Pony, we'll never be apart! My Little Pony, will always be in my heart... Oh yes. Polar opposites here, therefore: Surfdancer becomes Surfwhore, Majesty becomes Tramp, and Duck Soup becomes Swan... Soup. Those people at Hasbro sure are creative with the names, huh?

No, no, you don't have to count with your fingers how long it has been since I last updated. xD

I mean, seriously man... this chapter is craaap. I need to think of a plot soon. D:

And excuse the caps lock throughout, I've got a new computer and I haven't got the MSWord program on it (!), therefore I have to use boring old Notepad. Oh, and by the way, blame any spelling mistakes on Notepad, too. ;)

Until the next (procrastinated) update:D

My Little Pony (c) Hasbro. Hasbro (c) Hasbro. Mercedes-Benz (c) whomever.


	5. PNP Plot? No plot?

**A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x**

* * *

"How far is it?" Vincent asked monotonously, following Cid as they left the clearing to hunt down the thieving bird. 

"The hell do I know?"

"Shouldn't we bring some provisions?"

"...Uh. Good idea."

Vincent crept back through the bushes to pick up some of the cooked eggs from earlier, before returning to Cid's side. "Are you sure the bird headed in this direction?"

"Hn." Cid broke a tree branch obstructing their path, and continued on. Vincent took some time to observe the blond. He was wearing his red cloak, as the two men had decided that the sight of Cid running around half-naked would probably traumatize some virgin Formulas.

...Not.

"Come on, the sun's going to set some time soon." Vincent hastened his pace, his eyes focused on the strip of cloth tied around Cid's head. The pilot had decided to use the remains of his torn shirt as some kind of head gear, and Vincent thought it made the pilot look a tad bit... younger. Unbeknown to him, Cid had actually planned to take on the 'kamikaze militia' look.

"That fucking bird stole my frickin' keys... this is _WAR_."

Vincent supposed the blond's enthusiastic fighting spirit would come in handy later, so he didn't bother putting out his dear friend's fire.

The hybrid bird squawked as it followed the two men with small bouncy steps, stopping here and there to peck at a flower or two. It had once tried to tug some of Vincent's shiny hair off his scalp, but when the gunman threatened to blow its head off with a (very shiny and explosive) bullet, it had avoided the ex-Turk's hair completely.

"Cid, we should give the animal a name."

Cid stopped in his occupation, cutting through some thick nettle bushes. "Say what?"

"What?"

"No, I mean, why the hell would we give it a name?"

"Exactly. We shouldn't call it... it. It should have a name." And also because the author doesn't want some mad chocobo rights activist chucking stink bombs through her letterbox.

"Well, we can call it 'him', from now on. Good enough for you?"

Vincent shook his head, stroking the bird's long neck. "No. What if it's a girl?"

"Then we'll call it 'her'!"

"But what if it suffers from gender confusion? What if it's a hermaphrodite? What then?"

"You talk shit sometimes, Vince. We can always just call it by saying, 'Hey you!' I think it should understand that!"

"But it's a bird. It doesn't speak English." (Or whatever language the Final Fantasy characters seem to speak.)

"No?" Vincent shook his head. "Well, it should. Stupid bird." The animal screeched loudly.

Cid screeched back.

Vincent didn't know why they were screeching, so he just sat down and proceeded to play whack-a-mole with a group of baby Formulas (all of which he later killed).

"Dammit! It can SO understand our language! Look at this! Hey birdie, your armpit stinks!"

The bird stayed nonchalant.

"What the? It didn't react?"

"Well, maybe it's because it doesn't even_have_ an armpit, Cid."

"Oh, right. Anyway, let's just drop this topic, okay? We need to find that stupid thieving bird ay-es-ay-pee (1) so that we can get our ass back onto Highwind and fly the _hell_ outta here."

"But we should give it a name first..."

Cid paused and stared at his traveling companion. Vincent equaled the stare with his own piercing gaze. "...You know, Vince, you're a bit too talkative lately." Cid scratched the back of his head, a bothered expression dominating his features. "You've talked with me more on this island that you ever did while we're out and about with the gang."

Vincent took this in with revelation. He _has_ been talking a little bit too much in the past few days... struggling to re-claim his calm demeanor, the gunman walked sulkily on ahead through the brambles. "Oh, shit. You've clammed up again."

"...I thought that's what you wanted."

"No, that's not it!" Cid cried out in frustration. "I _like_ it when you talk to me!"

Vincent halted in his effort to wrestle a tree branch out of his way. He turned slightly to give Cid a curious glance. The blond adopted a 'deer-caught-redhanded-with-its-mitts-down-the-car-driver's-pants' look.

The pilot scratched his head again. "Uh... it's just... it doesn't seem real. You're expressing yourself more than you ever did, or dared, and it took me by surprise." He crept slowly closer to the gunman. "But I'm happy that you're talking to me, Vince. I feel... closer to you, somehow."

Vincent fought off the blush that threatened to mar his pale cheeks. Cid was a hand's breadth away from him now, and he could clearly see the blond's stomach muscles flexing under his slightly tanned skin. "Closer... in more ways than one."

Vincent allowed the blush to surface, yet he did not know why he did. Turning away from Cid, he brutally snapped off the tree branch and proceeded to set as large a distance between him and the pilot as he could possibly manage, without completely leaving the other in the dust. Cid, like I mentioned earlier, is apparently physically fitter than the gunman, so he caught up pretty fast. Grasping Vincent's wrist, the pilot guided the black-haired man to rest against his chest, knowing that the latter hadn't ran as much as he had for the last ten minutes in the last few months.

Panting, Vincent opted not to fight off the gesture, comparing the warmth of Cid's torso with his own heat, that came from the result of exercising too vigorously under exceedingly warm conditions. His throat felt dry, but he wasn't sure whether it was because he deliberately made himself incapable of speech, or that he was actually quite thirsty. "You're too hot." The ambiguity of this sentence made Vincent shiver. "Go sit down on that rock. I'll cast Blizzard. Have you got the little ball thingamajigs?" The gunman felt a certain sense of foreboding when he handed Cid the appropriate materia for a Blizzard spell, but was too hot and bothered to pursue the sensation.

Sitting quite comfortably on the rock Cid had indicated to him, he felt the atmosphere gradually cooling around his being as Cid conjured some snowflakes to fall out of the empty air. The hybrid, intrigued, took up the silly little task of snapping its beak at the magical snowflakes, apparently bewildered that they could stay frozen for such a long length of time, considering the fact that they were quite near to a rumbling volcano filled with boiling hot lava.

Vincent himself caught a particularly large snowflake in his hand and bit into it, relishing the cold melted liquid in his mouth and the comfort it gave to his sweltering body. Cid, done with summoning the beautiful shower of ice, quietly sat on the ground at his companion's feet, catching a snowflake gently in between his clasped palms and crushing it. He used the liquid from the flake to wet his face a little. "Are you feelin' better?"

Vincent stayed quiet, determined not to talk to the other unless necessary. The gunman kept his eyes fixed on his golden claws as he nibbled on a stray snowflake he snatched from the air. Something inside his mind told him he was doing something normal people would affectionately look upon as a 'tantrum', but he decided that 'giving Cid the silent treatment' was the best phrase to use in describing his current behaviour.

"...I meant what I said, Vince." Cid announced in the silence, grasping Vincent's flesh hand tightly. The black-haired man winced and pulled his arm away. Cid tried to grab the cold hand again, but the gunman was playing hard to get. "Damn tease. Just lemme hold your hand already."

"...Why?" Vincent allowed himself to ask, looking at Cid with what he hoped was a cool, aloof stare.

"'Cause it's more romantic that way." Cid smirked at the gunman's shocked expression. Damn, he must be the first person to see Vincent Valentine's jaw hanging by its hinges. "Come on, gimme your hand."

Overwhelmed by shock from Cid's last remark, Vincent allowed his companion to take a hold of his hand, and they stayed that way for about ten minutes. He didn't even move in Cid's hold, yet he could feel the callous lines etched along the pilot's tanned skin. These passive touches occupied his thoughts for a while, evoking foreign emotions.

"Your fingers."

"..." _What about my fingers_?

"They're so fucking _long_."

Ah. Leave it to Cid to be so offensive.

"..." _So_?

"Like a girl's."

Vincent growled quietly. "..." _Fuck you_.

When the pilot started to stroke his hand, the gunman had enough. He pulled his hand away roughly and sulked some more, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

The falling snow covered more of the ground, stretching out farther and farther into the forest. If Vincent had not sulked so avidly he would have had time to notice a few of the trees cringing, their trunks slowly turning a very pale shade of white, if that was ever possible. Their leaves curled, shriveled and wilted, drifting down from their dead branches like dirty shreds of rag cloth. The hybrid chocobo seemed to sense the changing atmosphere though, and it suddenly appeared restless.

"Hey, about your earlier question."

"..." _What question_?

"Let's name it Toff."

"..." _What are you on, suddenly_?

"His feathers are brown, like toffee. Right?"

"..." _Not really_.

"Oh, hey. You think Toff's connected to the puddle of toffee we found?"

Vincent rubbed his arms. When did the air turn so bitterly cold? "Don't talk nonsense, Highwind."

"Oh, you talking to me now? ...Why are you flapping your arms like that? Are you sick?"

Vincent stopped trying to generate some warmth.

"Ahh, you cold?"

"..." _Oh no, I'm very warm. This place feels so tropical. Oh look, the sky's throwing paper snowflakes down at us._

Cid joined Vincent on the rock and took the gunman by surprise when he embraced him. Vincent could not deny the warmth emitting from the other; so mesmerized was he that his own body leaned in closer to share more of that calming heat. For a minute he booted his pride out of the equation and landed himself with a winning formula. Cid's arms plus Cid's heat plus Cid's embrace equals putty Vincent.

"What's freaking the freak out?" Cid pointed out casually, nodding towards the overgrown bird.

Vincent cursed himself for basking too much in Cid's presence, but made no move to jerk away. Although he admitted that the hybrid was acting strangely. Toff dithered about in a spot, staring at Cid, then the sky, and finally the dark forest waiting behind him. He paced in random directions, plopped down to rest in some places, pulled himself up again, and marched back to his original spot. Toff stared at the dark forest again.

"It's like he's planning to..."

Toff spontaneously bolted in the opposite direction.

"...Escape."

"...!"_Fuck_!

Realizing that the whole objective of their mission was to bring back the hybrid and _not_ cuddling amidst falling snow, Vincent fumbled out of Cid's hold and posed himself to chase after the bird. Unfortunately, Cid hadn't fully disentangled himself from his partner yet (why do I feel so naughty when I typed up that sentence?) and Vincent only succeeded in pulling the lancer down into snow with him when he tripped.

Even with his face buried in the snow, the serious ex-Turk managed to scream a feeble "The hybrid, it's getting away...!", but as he brought his head up he realized that something was squashing him.

Some_one_.

Cid was lying heavily on the black-haired man, chuckling into his shirt. The pilot wasn't intending to move anytime soon, and he made this clear as he slowly inched his way higher along the arch of Vincent's back. The gunman struggled in the thin layer of snow as Cid pressed his shoulders down firmly. "Well, well."

"W-What are you doing?! The hybrid's getting away!"

"Let's just worry about that later..."

He could feel Cid's abs practically massaging his back, so hard they were. At that moment, Vincent realized instantly what "later" meant, and his body shuddered with what he found was anticipation. Damn hormones! He was never this quick to be aroused! "_Cid_, get off of me, or...!"

"Hmmm..." Cid didn't hesitate to caress his partner's hair, flicking it aside to reveal Vincent's pale neck. Kissing the unbelievably soft, warm skin, he could hear the gunman sigh ruggedly, and that _really_ turned him on, for some reason. Damn hormones! He was never this quick to be aroused! "...Or what?"

Vincent gasped. It couldn't be.

The heat on his behind...

Cid's...

...Oh buggerisms. If anyone from the entity known as Square-Enix knew anything about this, they'd ban Dirge of Cerberus from the market... not that he wasn't ashamed by such a crap game made in his name (or rather, that of his gun) anyway...

Gun...

Gun... and... gun...? (2)

"Ka-click."

Cid gulped.

"Gee-tee-eff-oh (3) now or I'll blow your balls."

Cid rolled over obligingly, thus putting some distance between him and the gun which had been so nicely poked against his nether regions.

Freedom successfully attained (and without having to kill anyone, an exclusive first), Vincent quickly got up, ignoring the fact that the whole front of his body was wet and half-frozen from lying in the snow too long.

Now where could the hybrid be...?

* * *

I feel that I have to remind you that this fic is actually **very, very, very random**. Ha! You thought there was plot advancement in this chapter? I ask you now, babes... WHAT IS A PLOT? Ha. Haha! HAHAHA! -dragged away by the MiB- 

(1) ASAP. I didn't write THAT in because I didn't want to seem illiterate. -smile-  
(2) Urge to type "Big Magnum" rising...  
(3) GTFO. I didn't write THAT in because I didn't want to seem illiterate (also to keep this fic rated as a humble, unoffensive T. -ignores all the 'F' words she's been giving Vincent in the script-).

Vince: WT(beep)?

AND OMG, I KNOW.

I haven't updated in a goddamn-long time. (A fucking long time...)

I KNOW. (Like, a YEAR in fact...)

So don't hate me for it, babes. -love- (But hate me anyway. Go on. You know you want to... ;-;)

((Seriously though, I'm sorry. ;v;))

((Note: the authoress hasn't even completed DoC because of her stupidity and general lameness of character, so don't ask her about this game... AT ALL! -smacks a huge NO-GO ZONE stamp on your face-))


End file.
